ATTENTION: Warnings: OC (Portugal, obviously), AU of the present day, some OOCness but with good reason. Yes, this story does have a plot, but it is complex and so the relationships and the explaining of situations will be taken slowly. Also: violence, angst, war themes, sexual themes (might be explicit in the future) and suspense. Enjoy your reading :)
Important A/N regarding pairings/historical information/looks in the end of this chapter.
OST for this chapter: "Somebody that I used to know" (by WOTE) – listen to it especially during the last of England's first sequence of flashbacks. The one about the treaty. It will add the sadness needed to that scene. "Meeting for the first time" (by The Script).
The Fall Of The Nations
Act I - The Players
Chapter I - Memories
"Hey Britain!" Arthur Kirkland sighed heavily and closed his book softly, putting it down to face the cheerful face of the nation made of fifty states.
America grinned excitedly at the much older nation in front of him and straightened up from the crouch he was in, in front of England's couch. Britain frowned at America's gigantic height as he looked up at him. Even if Britain stood up to his maximum height, he was still a whole lot shorter than America and it annoyed him to no end.
But he forced himself to smile politely at the larger nation like the gentleman he was.
"Hello, America" He greeted, lacing his fingers together in his lap "What brings you here?" And how did you get in?
"The date of the World Meeting was altered because Spain couldn't host it in that day" The always-cheerful nation replied "Some big football game that he had to watch"
England scoffed at that. Of course the Hispanic nation would alter the date of a World Meeting because of some stupid football game. Ever since he had won the World Cup, Antonio couldn't shut up about how football was an essential sport and just how great he was at it.
"When is it?"
"Tomorrow, by 4 P.M" Was the reply from the North-American "And he said he was going to bring a friend"
This caught England's already wandering attention. The ex-empire shot America a suspicious look and frowned.
"And who might that be?"
"Uh... I can't remember the name... He said it was his older brother" The American's voice rose in excitement as a juvenile grin spread across his face "Can you believe it? I didn't even know that Spain had an older brother! Antonio said he was really good at football as well!"
Alfred kept on babbling about how he had been completely unaware of Spain's older brother, his tone of voice rising slightly due to the hero's excitement, but that first part had made the Englishman's heart freeze in his chest and his blood run cold.
He said it was his older brother. No... It couldn't be. A somewhat annoying ache began to rise within the gentleman's chest, caressing the borders of the muscle that provided him with life and clutching at his lungs. It was getting progressively harder to breathe.
"What was the name?" The American pondered to himself "Portival? Portucalm? Poorugal?"
But England wasn't listening anymore. Memories, as ethereal as ghosts and as painful as pain itself were flooding into his mind, blocking his hearing and vision as his head spun with the past he had desperately tried to forget.
"Aren't you going to drink as well?" A teenage England asked, trying to control his tipsy slur.
A young man about his age, wearing reddish brown hair tied loosely in a low ponytail smiled slightly.
"No, thank you. I have to be back to my capital tomorrow by the break of dawn and besides, I already drank something"
"I bet it was that wine of yours! You should start drinking like a man!" Teenage England affirmed, offering him a glass of rum.
"What's wrong with my wine?" The other man growled defensively "Alright. I'll drink your stupid drink! I'll prove it to you that I'm ten times the man you are!" And, just like that, he downed a bottle of rum to the sound of England's excited claps.
"I kicked your brother's ass" Britain smirked smugly as he sipped on his tea. The same man from the previous memory was sitting next to him, frowning slightly.
"Serves him good. What was he thinking, facing the British Armada?" He scowled slightly and then his expression eased into a smile and he raised his cup of tea "To friendship"
Britain smiled and his cup met his friend's.
"To friendship"
"It's your country or your colonies" The man in front of Britain growled as two kids, both black-skinned clung to his legs tightly, whimpering.
The smallest was a girl, dressed in a simple dress that reached her knees, and the other one was a boy of fierce eyes and a permanent frown, even when he sobbed into his foster father's leg.
"Do you really have no heart, to take mere children from a father's care?" The country that held them spat "What have you become? I thought you were a gentleman"
"I am a gentleman. I convinced my queen to send your king an ultimatum. If it weren't for me, you would have been directly invaded and faced with your king's head. Now hand them over"
"Never"
"Your king has already accepted to give up those colonies" The shocking truth hit the man's face like a ton of bricks and his grip on the children's shoulders loosened.
"He would never..."
"He did"
A moment of silence stretched out between the two countries. Finally, the man let go of the kids was pushed them gently towards the blond empire.
"Go on, meninos. You can go with that man over there. He won't hurt you" And the children stumbled towards an expecting England, who took them roughly and ordered an officer of his to lead them to their quarters.
"Thank you. I'm happy I didn't have to spill your blood" The blond man said, but the brunette turned around and didn't answer.
"Leave" Was the only thing he said, and England bowed his head in shame. Without another word, not wanting the younger country to shed tears in front of him, the empire left his old friend to weep.
England cried when he got home.
And then, there was that memory, the most painful of all of them. It almost brought tears to the already distressed British nation.
"Hey Iggy!" A child's voice shouted, and a kid England turned to see his best friend ever running towards him, with a smile so big that it threatened to spilt the infant's face in two.
"Porty!" He shouted back in greeting. One might be taken aback by England's carefree behavior, but let's not forget that England was but a child and he had the innocence of one.
When the young country reached England, he almost bumped into the would-be gentleman.
"Guess what!" He exclaimed.
"What!"
"My king is at Windsor right now! He's planning on making an alliance with your king! We're going to be like brothers!" His voice was trembling with excitement and England could finally understand the dimension of the other youth's smile.
His own smile tore through his face.
"That's wonderful!" He shouted, laughing loudly. His best friend leaned forward and motioned for England to do the same thing.
"They're signing a treaty, full of those official and fancy words. Why don't we make a treaty of our own?" Arthur eyed the brunette with amazement.
"That's an excellent idea!"
And so the two children fetched some paper and a quill and climbed one fairly large hill until they were at the top. On top of that hill, there was a single tree of long branches. It was their secret spot.
"How are we going to write without ink?" The English kid asked the other one, frowning, but the brunette merely smiled and shook his head, making his low ponytail bounce.
England would never understand why his friend liked to use his hair sort of long, like France's, since he had never liked the frog anyway, but he never complained about it.
"Silly England. We're going to write it with our blood!" He exclaimed as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet. England hoisted one of his most shocked looks.
"We can't do that!" He hissed "We'll die!"
"England, countries can't die!" The brunette replied, shaking his head in amusement "I think you're just scared"
"I am absolutely not scared!" England looked almost offended "Let's do this"
Luckily, the Iberian boy had brought his pocket knife. He placed it carefully above Arthur's palm and pressed down, sliding it slightly to cut the skin. He was young and inexperienced and the cut was a bit deeper than he expected but the English boy didn't complain when the blood squirted out of the wound. The Iberian boy repeated the action with himself and took the quill carefully.
He dipped the tip on the blood that had pooled on the palm of his left hand and began to write.
"What are you going to write?" The short-haired boy peered curiously over the other's shoulder.
"Well, it's a treaty, so we have to put some fancy words in it. My king taught me all about it!" The Iberian child answered absent-mindedly as he scribbled on the paper. England hummed in agreement and watched as words were engraved into the paper.
"Now we add the vows!" His Iberian friend chirped happily.
"Vows?" England repeated, shooting him a suspicious look "Are we getting married?" Both boys turned a little green at the thought before bursting out in laughter.
"Of course not, silly! But we have to make certain promises to each other! Here! I'll start!"He turned his attention back to the paper "I hereby promise that I will never, ever, betray you, England, and I will always be there when you need me"
"Here, let me write too!" The British country requested and pulled the paper free from his best friend. He took the quill and dipped it into the pool of his own blood. The wound was already closing and the pain was only a dull ache, now.
"I promise that I will always stand by your side. I promise that I will never betray you and I will always help you when you need me." And then, as an afterthought "Especially against that frog-face"
The brunette took the treaty back and read it carefully. He then handed it over to England for the British nation to check as well. When the document got the approval of both friends, the long-haired boy scribbled down the last patch of "fancy words" and signed his name.
"Here" He said, handing it to England "Sign your name here" The British nation did as he was asked and then asked:
"What now?"
"Now, we shake hands" And the Iberian nation extended his bloody hand. England scrunched up his face.
"That hand is dirty"
"I know" The other kid sighed exasperatedly "That's the point! We'll mix our blood to make the alliance official" England didn't feel the need to remind the other boy that it was the treaty being signed at Windsor that would make the alliance official.
He extended his hand and took the Iberian boy's one. They shook hands firmly, like grown-ups would do and then smiled to each other. As one, they pressed their palms into the already bloody paper. Their handprints weren't perfect, but they were theirs and it made them feel special.
By the end of the day, when the night fell, the Iberian kid was invited to stay at England's place and both boys wore the biggest smiles of their lives.
"Percival... Nortugel... No, that wasn't it..." Back in the present day, America was still trying to figure out the name of that brother of Spain's. England forced air into his burning lungs.
"Portugal"
"What?" The oblivious nation eyed Britain wearily.
"His name is Portugal"
"Yeah! That was it!" Alfred laughed happily before taking in the state in which Britain was in that moment "Yo, Britain! You ok, dude?"
"I'm fine" Britain assured the younger nation, managing a scowl "Tell Spain that I will be there tomorrow. Four in the morning, you say?"
"In the afternoon. What is it with you?" The American nation frowned suspiciously at the odd behavior of the United Kingdom.
"I am perfectly fine, America, now kindly remove yourself from my presence, you wanker!" The younger blond huffed in annoyance but walked out of Britain's living room. A few moments later, Arthur heard the door slam and he winced at the loud volume of it.
Only then did the British nation allow himself to lean back and dive into the memories he had long since locked away. His breath caught and his head swarmed with the overflow of painful memories that he thought he had forgotten, or at least locked tightly. He shut his eyes as he felt the whispers of a migraine touching his mind.
"That was ages ago. It was just a piece of paper. It does not mean anything" He whispered to himself, shuddering as the ghostly whispers echoed through the empty house.
But he could not stop the all-too-vivid images from flowing into his field of vision. He clenched his teeth painfully as another one wormed its way into his mind.
"I need your help" Portugal said, keeping his voice low and talking exclusively to England. The empire frowned.
"I thought you... No, forget it" He gave up that train-of-thought before it came into dangerous territory, but the Iberian nation caught on quickly.
"You thought I what?" He insisted, frowning as well. It was an expression England hated to see on his friend's face. Even with the vertical scar over his right eye, Portugal was quite handsome, but that frown changed his expression and turned his chocolate stare darker.
For a moment, that was not Portugal, the hyperactive carefree nation, but Portugal, the one who had discovered half of the world.
"It's nothing" The British Empire insisted, shaking his head and turning to leave, but a sudden hand clutching at his forearm stopped all his motions. He turned to see his long-time friend looking at him in fierce determination.
"What was it?" And his tone was so final, so determined, that England could do nothing but tell the truth.
"I thought you hated me. You know... for taking them away from you" He scratched the back of his head in unspoken embarrassment. He had never forgiven himself for doing what he had been forced to do, and he had expected the other country to loath him with a passion.
It had clearly been betrayal that was written in his face, that day.
"I don't hate you" England gaped at Portugal. The frown disappeared and was replaced by a radiant smile "I could never hate you"
"You... don't hate me?"
"We're best friends, right? We stand by each other's side" The ancient Iberian nation smiled a wide smile and let go of England.
"Right. What was it that you wanted from me?"
"I have been invaded by that frog-face, France." The Portuguese nation shook his head while England half-growled. "My army was unprepared. I need your help to drive them out of my country"
"I will help" Was the immediate answer from England. He would later regret not having thought of what his government would think of that. Portugal nodded, but kept unusually quiet.
"What is it, Portugal? You're so quiet, today" The gentlemanly empire prodded, trying to pinpoint the exact source of his sort-of-younger-brother's agony.
"It's Antonio" The Iberian nation finally said after a couple of minutes of eerie silence. This perked Arthur's attention. He had never heard the Portuguese sound so sad when talking about his brother. Enraged? Yes, definitely, but never sad. "He's allied himself with France"
England was shocked into silence for a while. To think that Portugal's brother would ally himself with France of all people to invade his own brother was... outrageous, at the very least. And then he produced a sad smile.
"That's rough, buddy" And proceeded to fetch them both glasses that he could fill with the wonderful invention that was alcohol.
"You can't"
"... I'm sorry, Portugal, I really am"
"You... You lied to me"
"I'm sorry. Oh, and from now on, call me 'sir'" He hated himself for it, for what his government was doing to Portugal. They were almost conquering the small country for themselves, taking the trust that had been put in their hands and crushing it to tiny little bits.
It wasn't his fault really, but Arthur Kirkland felt as if he was stabbing his friend in the back.
Those had just been examples, simple strokes in a full drawing. Their history was like a novel written by someone seriously depressed, full of betrayal and suspicion, in a treaty where the English nation had benefitted more than his continental friend.
And now... Tomorrow... He would see his friend – if he still considered them friends after all those years of betrayal and profiting from the sidelines – again. He lightly wondered what had happened to the Iberian nation. Had he grown? Had he changed his ever-present low ponytail? Had his liquid-chocolate gaze hardened? Or was he the same as ever?
He knew Portugal was facing an economical crisis and that Germany had been very supportive of the brunette, as had been other countries. His brother Spain had visited the sinking nation quite a lot in the previous months. Alfred's president had made the mistake of insulting the nation and so Alfred himself had gone to apologize personally to the offended nation. It turns out that Portugal had kicked Alfred out of his house with threats of setting his bomber jacket on fire.
Britain snorted a little at the mental image that generated in his mind. Finally someone to put that bloody wanker back in place! But he couldn't help but worry over this. If the Portuguese Republic had become so touchy about one little mistake, then surely he would hate Britain for years of betrayal, right?
But Alfred and Portugal hadn't spent the majority of their lives together as brothers. And Portugal had forgiven France, of all people, who had invaded him not one, but three times. He had even forgiven his brother for centuries of fighting and bickering. Portugal just wasn't one to hold grudges against people. However, doubt was still clouding Britain's heart.
Those people – except maybe for Spain – weren't Portugal's best friends. They weren't always together baking mud pies or training sorcery and they hadn't signed the world's oldest diplomatic treaty with him. They weren't as close to the Iberian nation as Britain was and the Brit was sure that his betrayal had cost Portugal more than the Iberian Union, the Napoleonic Invasions and the Independence of Brazil together.
Maybe he was just too full of himself. His huge eyebrows came together as the Brit frowned at his closed book. Maybe Portugal really had forgiven him because he didn't think that highly of their friendship. Maybe he thought that his relationship with Spain was worth investing in, now. The blond snorted at the thought.
His mind wandered back through the times, fixating itself on a specific event. The Independence of Brazil. That was one of the things they had in common – they both knew what it was like to be betrayed by your own brother as he gained independence. He could never forget the day that Portugal stumbled into his house drenched in rain and blood and stinking of some cheap alcoholic drink he had surely bought in one of England's pubs.
Green eyes darkened considerably. The brunette had cried for hours, mumbling incoherent things as the Brit slowly but comfortingly stroked his hair. He had loved that boy with all he had and the foolish American nation had declared independence. Britain felt like that was the moment he could relate the most to Portugal. Painful flashes of America's Independence War, had him shaking to keep the tears inside his body, but he shook his head.
It was getting dark, and he had to go to sleep. He would think stuff over the next day. It couldn't be that bad... could it?
Note: Some of the historical content may be incorrect or imperfect.
Ok, small chapter to introduce the story to you. In case you're wondering what Portugal looks like, Google some pictures of the author's sketch for Portugal and take a look at the one who is male with a small ponytail tied lowly. That's the one.
I'm Portuguese, by the way, so any reviews in Portuguese would be nice.
Pairings will be as follows:
I need you to choose from one of the below:
{Option 1}
Main Pairing is going to be PortFrance, meaning that Portugal is seme (I freaking hate people who portray Portugal as a uke or a girl).
Side pairing is going to be UsUk and Gerita. PortUk friendship will also play an important part in the story.
{Option 2}
Main Pairing is going to be PortUk with Portugal as seme.
Side pairings will be Gerita and any other you suggest will be considered. PortFrance friendship will also be included.
{Option3}
Main Pairing is going to be PortFrance with Portugal as seme.
There will be a love triangle between Portugal, the UK and France and any other side pairings (aside from Gerita, which is already decided, and UsUk if France eventually wins) will be taken into consideration. PortUk and PortFrance (depending on which one wins) friendship will also be included.
You have until chapter four to decide. Send me your vote as a review.
Send me your suggestions of pairings and I'll think them over. If you're lucky, I might include them.
Some info about the country:
Portugal is Spain's older brother, since he's more than 350 years older than him. They have a rocky relationship, but they love each other. Also, I picture Portugal as the easygoing carefree man-child that can turn into serious!Portugal in certain situations.
Sorry for the long AN.
Review! I always answer reviews
PS: The scene where England takes the two kids away from Portugal represents the British Ultimatum.
meninos (PT): kids